


With a magic like thee

by Maidenjedi



Category: Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/pseuds/Maidenjedi
Summary: Elinor Dashwood comes to Barton in search of a future, and meets Colonel Brandon.
Relationships: Colonel Brandon/Elinor Dashwood
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	With a magic like thee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evilythedwarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilythedwarf/gifts).



She stood, uncertain and feeling all the weight of the weeks prior on her shoulders, in the doorway of a dining room so similar to what she’d always known she had to blink several times. Not Norland, of course, but Barton Park. A home, but not _her_ home.

The smell of supper enticed her forward, or perhaps it was Lady Middleton’s gentle entreaty to _please, sit_ , and _the others would be along in a moment_. “We are a small family party tonight, no need to stand on ceremony.”

And no ceremony was to be found! While the societal formalities were observed, she was as one of them almost immediately on Sir John’s and Mrs. Jennings’ entrance; laughing and winking, warm handshakes all around, a jovial welcome that grounded her at Barton Park.

They were about to begin on the sumptuous food laid out before them when the butler announced one more.

“Colonel Brandon, ma’am.”

Introductions were made, and that feeling of home settled more firmly in Elinor’s heart.

-

Elinor did not cry on leaving Norland.

She was being watched. _Fragile Elinor, she might crumble any minute._ Indeed, it had been a rough season, and that understatement covered so many sins.

Mr. Henry Dashwood had passed in the late winter, a cold turned pneumonia that burnt through him rather quickly. Elinor’s mother took ill not long after, and cruel death took advantage of the grief of her husband’s passing and the fear of what was to come. It was on Elinor, and her sister Marianne, to chart the waters then, with Margaret in their care. Or so it had seemed, until the will was read and it was discovered Margaret would be in the care of their brother John.

An invitation came to Norland for all the girls, to live at Barton Park in the respectable position of companions to their cousin’s mother-in-law, and in truth, a winking postscript had assured them that said position was informal. Marianne would not hear of removing from Norland, no matter how she and Fanny Dashwood chafed at one another; to abandon Margaret, to leave the home she’d known and loved so long and so well? Never!

John and Fanny, tripping over one another’s wishes, made it known that they were all welcome to stay; indeed, they must, for at least until one or the other found a situation! But Elinor was of age, and Fanny was convinced and horrified that she might attempt to lure one of Fanny’s own brothers into an ill-advised marriage. She encouraged Elinor, not entirely unkindly, to take the offer at Barton Park, and her sisters could join her later on. For Fanny was not impressed with the melancholy Marianne, whose bloom suffered, and therefore unconcerned that _she_ might become the next Mrs. Ferrars.

Practical Elinor! She agreed to the scheme, though she feared Marianne’s reaction to it.

Through tears, the younger maiden said to the elder, “You must go, you must! For you may meet someone caring and generous and rescue us from this. Or else I may come to you when I am of age myself and we shall live as old maids together on the cliffs near the sea.”

Elinor saw their future unfolding in a much less interesting or dramatic way; she knew, or thought she knew, the hardships that awaited them. She was prepared to stay with the Middletons until a paid position could be secured; not that she told Marianne this, for Marianne’s romantic nature could not withstand Elinor’s cold practicality at that exact moment in time.

So no, Elinor did not cry on leaving Norland, for her sisters held up their end and more. Fanny wrinkled her nose and John grimaced, and at that Elinor resolved to get herself settled all the more quickly, in order that Marianne, at least, may not have to dwell under their roof longer than absolutely necessary.

-

Barton Park was beautiful, but more isolated than Elinor had anticipated. They dined with fewer than twenty families, said a slightly subdued Mrs. Jennings, for she dearly loved company and in certain seasons, company was scarce. It was also unvarying, though none in the household seemed to mind this. Elinor, more bruised and rawer from all that had happened than anyone knew, was glad of this. She could be cheerful and content more easily when she knew what, and who, to expect.

She came to understand within the first fortnight, the company she could most often expect was Colonel Brandon.

Colonel Christopher Brandon, late of --- regiment, was a great friend of Sir John’s, and was considered one of the family, which Elinor had realized from the first moment of their meeting. He was, as Mrs. Jennings assured her, quite the romantic. The story went that his true love had died a terrible death while the couple was forced to stay apart, and if there was more to it than that, Mrs. Jennings did not like to say in front of young women, but it was perfectly sad and interesting nonetheless. 

Elinor tried to humor Mrs. Jennings with an appropriately shocked and sympathetic look at that telling, some weeks after her first introduction to the Colonel. She was not at all sure she had convinced the lady, but Mrs. Jennings did give her significant looks at every chance, usually when Colonel Brandon’s countenance turned studious or distracted.

They would have another chance to observe him tonight, said Mrs. Jennings to Elinor on their way back from the village for a bit of shopping. Sir John had been out hunting that morning, and promised to bring Brandon back for supper with the family.

Elinor smiled – she had begun to look forward to the Colonel’s company, and the reader shouldn't think for a moment Mrs. Jennings hadn’t noticed.

-

Dinner was lively, Sir John full of news about the heir of the nearby Allenham estate and an upcoming wedding. The romantic bits seemed of less interest to the master of the house, to the ladies’ disappointment (save Elinor, who remained ignorant of the rumored Allenham heir, to her unknowing benefit), but the idea of new dinner guests was pleasing to all (save Brandon, whose grimace at the mention of this heir went almost unnoticed). 

Brandon fell into one of his characteristic silences, a quirk Mrs. Jennings was never able to understand but one she learned to let alone. Sir John suggested a brandy and the sexes separated, by no means a common occurrence at these family dinners, for they were so few and the company so congenial they rarely wished to part. But even Sir John, a bit blind to emotional changes such as the ladies might exhibit, could see when his fellows needed a break.

They didn’t linger long; the enticement of the ladies’ company was that great, and Brandon knew his duty. Besides, he had come to enjoy the company of young Miss Dashwood, and hoped for more of that as a balm for what ailed him.

The group picked up a line of conversation from a prior evening together, about whether cards were really enjoyable or reading, then a debate about the great poets of the age. But that evening, things took a turn.

Apropos of nothing, languid Lady Middleton asked if Miss Dashwood played, and Miss Dashwood confessed that she did, though she sang rather ill. Lady Middleton assured Miss Dashwood that she preferred the instrument at any rate, and Miss Dashwood took the hint and moved to the pianoforte.

Play she did – Elinor Dashwood was not as showy in her style as her sister Marianne, but none present had heard her sister and were therefore duly impressed. This drawing room played host to a variety of talents and had rarely seen more proficient a player than Elinor Dashwood. Or so the observer might think, to hear the effusions of her hostess, and to see the look on Colonel Brandon’s face as he listened.

None did see that look, and it was better for Brandon’s constitution and Elinor’s playing.

As she came to the end of her song, Lady Middleton requested a second, and Sir John echoed her, adding that he had walked in so late as to miss the crucial part of the piece, and he would be happy to hear her simply repeat her performance.

Of course, Elinor picked another song. It was a slower, more melancholy piece, and it was then Brandon began to understand how much he did not, actually, know about this woman who had so lately entered his life.

A cousin of Sir John’s. Sir John had mentioned on a few occasions his cousins the Dashwoods, a couple and their daughters. It was the wife to whom he was related, a first cousin two times removed, and they kept in touch though they had never been close. Her husband had passed after a sudden illness, and then the lady herself, and Sir John had mentioned the scheme of having the daughters to stay at Barton Park, perhaps even to live at Barton Cottage. 

Though it had not been spelled out to him, he was able to see now Miss Dashwood’s grief. Sir John was not one for fairy tales and so had only told the truth as he knew it, and no more. The topic of Miss Dashwood’s family was never broached at dinner and Brandon had no chance to ask.

He wondered, uncharitably, if his own bachelor status had played into the idea of having Miss Dashwood come hither on her own. Had he been mentioned, pitched as a suitor? But then, Sir John was not inclined to go so far, and Mrs. Jennings was hardly acquainted with the family. Surely not, then. Surely not.

“I believe Miss Dashwood might appreciate the aid of our dear Colonel, at turning the pages.”

Even Lady Middleton, it turned out, could not resist the temptation of matchmaking.

-

-

It is the wont of some to fight such obvious and vulgar matchmaking as commenced at Barton Park. Elinor Dashwood was not one of these, though neither did she encourage the activity.

Indeed, Elinor, still in the lavenders and grays of half-mourning, was more inclined to ingratiate herself with the mistress of the house, with an eye toward putting herself forward as companion to that lady, or looking for another situation if necessary. Elinor was not inclined to romantic notions outside of a good novel; she knew her situation to be precarious and possibly diminishing. It was a turn of fortune, the offer of a stay at Barton Park, but Elinor did not take her sister’s soothing “there could yet be someone for you, dearest” to mean she might come away affianced.

Still, Colonel Brandon was not unpleasant to look at, and, she discovered, he was more than simply the best of the local conversationalists by fathoms.

Tricked one day into walking a path with Mrs. Jennings, only to be abandoned by that good lady on Colonel’s approach to the house, Elinor decided to at least make a friend.

Colonel Brandon, shooed from the house by Lady Middleton’s insistence that her husband walked the fields, instead found Elinor in the garden. It was not an unpleasant discovery, he readily admitted to himself.

They spoke quietly of nothing, and shortly said nothing at all, for neither was the type to chatter on about the weather.

But then….

“Miss Dashwood, as you are fond of music, I hope that I may have the pleasure of hearing you play when next we are in company.”

“Indeed, Colonel Brandon, if you wish it. With the caveat about my singing voice, I am happy to play if it please you.”

“Would I presume too much…that is, I have a collection of music at my home at Delaford. More than I have the time to focus on. May I bring some for you, so that it doesn’t collect dust in my own music room?”

And a friendship was struck.

-

Marianne saw between the demure lines of Elinor’s letters.

“I confess I esteem Colonel Brandon very much. He is amiable and kind, and intelligent. His conversation never languishes in the weeds of the common, but at the same time he is steady and interesting. I have made a fortunate friend, for we are a small household at Barton.”

She would couch that in pillows of lines about what the children got up to, or what Mrs. Jennings said about the season, things Elinor was sure would interest Marianne, but were there more to cover for what she would not or could not say. Marianne knew it, and wrote back with urgency to say –

“So sister, when am I to wish you joy?”

-

Joy.

That, more than anything, Colonel Brandon considered out of his reach, and had done so for longer than he cared to recall.

But he had it now, in Miss Dashwood’s light step across the grounds at Delaford. They had got up a scheme for a picnic at his park, the Middletons and Mrs. Jennings, her daughter Charlotte Palmer and Charlotte’s droll husband, and a young niece of Lady Middleton’s who was passing through on her way to town for the season. Not that Brandon saw any of them, while Elinor Dashwood walked his way.

Was it love? He wanted to think so. But he was just as sure he hadn’t the capacity to love as he once had. Whereas love as he’d known it was violent, passionate, whatever he was experiencing with Miss Dashwood was by comparison sedate. She was demure and stately, and had a calming influence on all those she met with – even the excitable Charlotte, he’d noticed. 

If he knew what tumult ran through the object of his musings, he might not be so quick to write off this love as a mere flickering candle.

-

Joy.

Elinor knew it for what it was, and she was not at all sure this was how it should be.

She was a woman of little fortune, with the burden of equally undowered sisters, and any move she made now must be mercenary, not sentimental. 

But oh, she was tired of practicality.

Mrs. Palmer went on about the trial of finding a nanny, and Mrs. Jennings lamented from time to time her increasing need for companionship should she decamp for London in the season. Lady Middleton’s daughters were nearly at an age for a governess. None had suggested, in word or quiet insinuation, that Elinor fill one of these roles. And Elinor was loathe to break the relationships she had for a subservient one, however kind the mistress. She had not advertised and shuddered now at that thought – _advertised._

And Delaford was lovely, not as large as Norland nor as ornate as Barton, but suited to Elinor’s tastes.

As the Colonel was, suited just to Elinor’s taste.

For he had told her the story of Eliza, and the ward he watched over from afar. In his story, and his countenance, Elinor detected melancholy, but no dramatics like those Mrs. Jennings insinuated. He was steady and purposeful, took duty seriously, and had learned from that long ago love. 

She knew, too, that he could love. She had seen it in his looks, felt it in the press of his hand.

But she was equally sure, he would not come to the point. And so, here they were, at Delaford with a crowd of friends, and no chance to speak, and if a chance did come, no courage to speak.

-

No courage, did I say?

I, like others before me, underestimated the good Colonel.

-

Elinor found herself in the music room, apart from her friends as the sun sat low in the sky. The picnic would turn house party – of course it would, and all had planned for it – and Middletons and Jennings and Palmers were found rooms to suit. So was Miss Dashwood, but having settled, she made for the instrument.

“You approve, then?”

He intruded, as the reader might have supposed he would.

Elinor ran her fingers over the keys of the pianoforte.

“Who would not approve, sir?”

“Will you play?”

The words were soft and pleading, and she readily obliged.

The music before her was the song she had played that first time, after applied to for a second time. The piece that, to her mind, was of Norland and a life left behind, but not less loved for all that. He knew it – she had, after a time, admitted it – and remembered. 

“Elinor…” he said, as he came to turn the page.

“Yes.”

-

The matchmaking, Mrs. Jennings and Lady Middleton exclaimed later on, was a grand success. Sir John was glad not to lose any of his preferred company.

And Colonel Brandon found that this love was more than any he had known or thought he’d known.

As for Elinor, she needn’t have worried, for her sisters were come and welcome, once the honeymoon was over, and she lived and loved better than all her careful planning might have anticipated.

-

End

.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Byron: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43846/stanzas-for-music


End file.
